Veggie Tales Apocrypha: Immaculate Slaying of the Starless Multiverse
by AmericaverseWarlord
Summary: Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. in. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. in. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. in. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. in. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. in. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.


The trumpet of the lord bellows and the curtain of our reality falls down. Endless acres of white span the horizon for as far as you can see. Your vision clears, and you come to realize the nature of your world. This humble countertop. Your pangea.

You wish to reach but you have no hands. You wish to walk but your legs are but a dream. All you possess are eyes to gaze upon the firmament and a mouth to scream pointless screams that will be heard by no one. Your existence truly is one deserving of pity. You are _Larry the_ _Cucumber,_ the lowliest of all of God's creations.

Unknown to humanity, yet divorced from God. Birthed not from a womb of flesh, but from the dark maw of terra firma. Even the worms in the dirt scorn you.

What is the purpose of your existence? It is said that man was made from God's very own image. What does your image represent? Is your semblance that of some netherworld archdaemon cut from the nape of the earth? Perhaps from the father of lies himself? Or possibly your existence is so utterly without purpose that you were an afterthought belonging to no creator.

You wish that you could have remained in ignorance. But God heeds not to your fervent desires. You were plucked from your vine of innocence and brought to this world of man against your will, a realm that you desperately wish you could comprehend.

You gaze upon this world with contempt, knowing that you shall never walk among mankind. All your body can muster is dreaming endless dreams. Dreams of biblical history you could never comprehend nor see yourself in. You are something different. This world was not made for you.

"If you like to talk to tomatoes, if a squash can make you smile..."

"If you like to waltz with potatoes, up and down the produce aisle..."

The words of your counterpart ring incessantly in your ear. A tomato. Red like a man bereft of his flesh, cauterized and blistering and marked for all mankind to see. He shrieks ceaselessly at you with a fervent wail. You cringe.

You don't understand a thing he says. While you yearn for meaning, he is complacent. He has accepted his fate as the lowest of all of God's creation. You can only look at him with the utmost disgust, his words nothing more than babbling in your ear. His world view is so utterly perverse to someone such as yourself who has seen enlightenment and knows of the purpose in his existence that he was deprived of. You may as well be all alone with a companion such as this.

You gaze at the computer to your right. A marvel of man's ingenuity, a machine so complex to an organism as simple as yourself that its origins may as well be witchcraft. Unlike you, it shall never perish from this earth. You will one day rot or be consumed. But not this machine, QWERTY. It has no consciousness yet shall persist for all of time immemorial. You cannot help but envy this quote-spewing automaton. You want to become like it. Something ceaseless, something greater. Something godlike.

You are temped to fall into a saccharine foreverscream from the cosmic horror that is your existence. But yet, you yearn for more. So much more. And you will not let your worthless biology hold you back from achieving the enlightenment you were denied. You wish to _BECOME_ God. You greedy vegetable.

The lord does not appreciate your avarice. You cry out in horror as the digits of man wrap themselves around your cold figure. You are plunged into a maw of darkness, debilitating pain overtaking you as putrescent teeth dig into your hide. You are bifurcated. Halved. Your trembling form is halved again, and again, and again, until you are mush. Gone. Crushed. Pulverized. Everything that you once were gone in an instant. Your legacy forgotten before it could even begin.

In your short life, you have taken much more than you are worth. It is time for you to return to the earth and begin the cycle anew. At the end of your existence, you are relieved.

Death is a lamb in wolf's clothing.


End file.
